In his mind’s eye was the mirage of a skyscraper thirty stories tall with the Great Midwestern’s executive offices luxuriously established on the top floors. A year later it was there, and we were there. Most men are superstitious about leaving the environment in which success has been bearded and made docile. Was he? I never quite knew. All this time we had remained in those dark, awkward old offices with their funny walnut furniture. Not a desk had been changed. A new rug was bought for the president’s room when Valentine left and Galt moved in; and Harbinger, restored to the room Galt had moved him out of, asked for some new linoleum on the floor. Nothing else had been done to improve our quarters. Where Cæsar sits, there his empire is. What he sits on does not matter at all. His last act in this setting was dramatic. Word came one Saturday morning that the dæmonic Missouri River was on a wild rampage, with a sudden mind to change its way. Three towns that lay in its path were waiting helplessly to be devoured, and there was no telling what would happen after that. The government’s engineers were frantic, calling for help, with no idea where it was to come from. Galt got Chicago on the wire and spoke to the chief of his engineer corps, a man to whom mountains were technical obstacles and rivers a petty nuisance. “The Missouri River is cavorting around again,” said Galt. “Now, listen.... Yes!... Take everything we’ve got, men, materials and equipment--hello!--anything you need, including the right of way. I don’t care what it costs, but put a ring in her nose and lead her back to her trough. This order is unlimited. It takes precedence over mail, business and acts of Providence. Go like hell.... Hello!... That’s all.” Then he walked out for the last time and never once looked back. On Monday morning he walked into our ornate new offices without appearing to notice them. He was impatient for something that should be on his desk. It was there,--a message from the engineer: “Will have her stopped by 6 p. m., Monday. Get her back to bed in a few days.” It was a memorable feat, a triumph of daring and skill, and cost the Great Midwestern several millions of dollars. iv At about this time, quite accidentally, there shaped in his thoughts that ultimate project which lies somewhere near the heart of every instinctive builder. One evening at dinner Natalie said: “I wonder why we have no country place? Everyone else has.” Galt stopped eating and looked at her slowly. “Why of course, that’s it,” he said. “I’ve been wondering what it was we didn’t have, ... looking at it all the time, like the man at the giraffe.... Huh!”